"The best I ever heard you!"

Going with a niche topic today, folks. Bear with me. I promise it will be relatable even if you're not in the niche.

If you know me at all (or have read this previous post), you're well aware that performing is my first love that is not a family member, friend, or fur child. You also know that I have a number of loves: writing, content creation, community service, politics, pop culture, plane spotting, food (yes! it's still a love in the most positive way!), and exercise all rank pretty high. But... performing outranks them all. With so many interests I've occasionally worried that my life, at times, doesn't have the place for performing that it once did. But after being on stage and having a choral solo recently, and more stage and church choir moments to come for the holiday season, I can confirm -- it's still my first love.

That said -- I did not want to admit, at 300-plus pounds, that performing became awkward and exhausting and overall physically more difficult than I wanted it to be. I pushed through, as I always did, but I noticed that my voice had to struggle to keep up with the breath stamina often required for singing. And the sweat. Oh, the sweat. Stage lights are killer. You will notice, in a number of photos of me performing in the late 2010s and early 2020s, that I often wore my hair up for performances. The featured photo above shows outdoor performances, so wearing my hair up in December of 2021 was not necessary.

Before I discuss further, I want to make clear that a conversation surrounding my health and quality of performance as well as difficulty with the physical demands of performing, is an entirely separate conversation than the discussion of fatphobia in the entertainment industry. I can see how some might interpret my description of performance difficulty as fatphobia, but that's not what I'm talking about here. Yes, "the industry" is known for both blatant and covert fatphobia, and while strides have been made, we have a long way to go. Fat performers deserve opportunities just as thin performers do -- and not just in "fat roles."

However -- now, that I have the experience of performing in a 300-plus pound body, and the experience of performing in a body that is 90 pounds smaller than that previous body, I know, for myself, that I feel different -- both physically and emotionally. That's not fatphobia. That's my lived experience, and it might not be the lived experience of another fat performer (and that's okay).

Over the weekend of December 6th and 7th, I had two separate opportunities to sing solo: a performance at the Glen Cove Downtown BID Holiday Festival and Tree Lighting, and as a featured soloist in our St. Mary's Choir Lessons and Carols service. And two different people (one being my own father, who would tell me only the truth), informed me that each of those solos were "the best I ever was." So... why was that?

I'm in better physical shape than I was before

"In shape" does not always equal thin -- and while I'm not thin by any means, I'm definitely on my way to being "in shape." I can stand on my feet for hours on end, even on my formerly broken leg. Long performance days, or singing back-to-back Masses at church, used to leave me in agony at the end. Not to mention, I'm not sweating like I used to. I'm even cold! I have far more stamina and less pain -- I can recall nights coming home from a four-hour rehearsal that would end with me soaking in the bathtub (and flooding the bathroom with the bath water that spilled out of the tub).

Breath control and voice clarity

I've spoken about this NSV before, but at 300-plus pounds, breathing was difficult when I wasn't singing. So, holding notes for six beats, or hitting an octave slide... you can forget it. I made it work, I disguised it, but the strain on my lungs as a result of my morbid obesity made that level of breath work supremely difficult. I can recall a number of performances where I knew that I'd done my best, but I wanted to be better and just couldn't get there. At the time, I was far too deep in denial to understand why I wasn't getting there, and I was still getting encouragement from my people.

Less awkward movement

The reality of life in a 300-plus pound body is that movement can be awkward. I watch clips of my performances in a larger body and though I'm probably my own harshest critic, I look as though I'm waddling around the stage. I am not sure how to position my body so that it fits in spaces when I'm on stage with other performers. Sometimes, I chose not to move at all, in order to conceal the awkward and careful nature of my movement.

The emotional aspects

Yes, life in a smaller body that is more physically fit has granted me confidence that I didn't have before. To be clear, I always had a right to it -- I just didn't know how to find it. As much as I didn't want this fact to be true, my stage presence is different (and I've always been a performer who is known for stage presence). I choose different clothes for performances that don't call for costumes (and most of mine don't these days). I feel better in those clothes and they don't appear awkward on me. I can recall an outfit that I wore for a performance (the 2021 photo above) that made me appear as though I was "trying too hard" to fit into it. I knew it was an awkward look, but I wore it anyway, as though to convince myself that I just didn't care. Spoiler alert: I cared. I cared far more than I ever said out loud.

In sum, yes. I very well was "the best I ever sounded." Technically, as my voice carries far better than it did before, when I needed to take "catch breaths" constantly. But, I wasn't only the best I ever sounded -- I felt better. I am better physically and emotionally. And the stage, or the choir loft, are even far happier places for me than they were before.